Dude, Where's My Gar?
by Litt
Summary: [Matt cringes and, for once in his life, tries to reason against intoxication.] A look at the Logan men's evolution on the Male Bonding Scale of Bumming in three, strategically placed, parts. Spoiler for: Titans of Tomorrow and most of everything OYL.


**Dude, Where's My Gar?****  
**Litt

March 2007

--

So, when the alien nods assent, Matt gets a bad taste in his mouth.

_But_, when the alien points its long "finger" at him in what _could_ be an absently condescending flicker of ease,-- just the same, thanks, he will take as an accusing gesture,-- Matt decides it's not so bad, won't be so bad (_oh_ fuck_ I won't make it bad_) so long as he's not _forced_ to… _swallow_ that taste. His beer keeps him level enough to not grin like a fool when the once-hot babe starts muttering in a once-hot language because how could he have ever thought her normal? And what had he done to offend her so much? Everyone else seems tense, some audience waiting for an attack, or, he noted absently, trying to run for cover. Only a few are trying to cover their amusement, but it's the one who stops chuckling long enough to morph into a gorilla-like thing and form a protective barrier between Matt's beer and the crazy lady's radioactive hands who Matt really cares about.

Matt remembers his cousin stressing how important it is to be on his best behavior because there were going to be high ranking visitors there as well--Matt only remembers this because two of those visitors had skin that almost matched his cousin's, and he meant "almost" as in apple green thighs _almost_ being the same as bottle green abs. So, after a few more sips and a few more chats-gone-wrong, Matt considers himself an accomplished good-behavior guy and goes, full to the brim with confidence, to inspect and differentiate skin tones--he can handle a lot, even when the alien girl mentions she wasn't always on the same team as his cousin, that they were different because he was human, and could you _not_ inhale my hair, please?

However, when the other alien says in a disturbingly close baritone, "You, person," he forgets all about telepathy and projection.

And that's why Beastboy never brings him to "The Tower" anymore. (There wasn't much of it left.)

--

It's one of those rare nights and Matt is out of it **right** before dinner time. This is something to celebrate: he's usually gone by sunset.

It's one of those nights and he's forgotten that his cousin is more than just a color, a cape, a name. He's allowed a life, too, apparently. He could think of jokes but he's too close to relaxing to argue his way to the punch line. Instead, Matt growls back. He can't help but notice how little an effect he's having in the intimidation department. On a normal day, he won't hear from or about him, on the emergency line or the 6 O'clock news; other days, they'll talk or meet up, work themselves passed their boring every day shams and Matt will be too out of it to really hear anything his friend is trying not to say while in his own state of Trueness. Usually, after the hang over, or during it, Matt gets it, really understands: something bad happened before, not just the normal snow ball but the Frosty of them all--he _almost_ forgets to be a good friend and look away during these confessions. He _always_ remembers to laugh it off loudly at the end or right before the end of his buzz until he's not alone in the act and then the faking.

It's one of those nights. He's not ashamed, really. He barely notices the gleaming fangs in the midst of a too bright grin or the shifty attempts to hide glances at the ground with an over-played pull of a pointed ear. Sometimes he can blame the alcohol, but others, when he's sober, he finds he doesn't want to picture his buddy in any other form--except those strange made-up ones--or occupation--except maybe that acting thing, if only to get in good with the video girls-- but wouldn't mind seeing him happy every now and then. It's cool, hanging out, or walking up to a phone booth that rings just as he closes the door. It's cool, being drunk while his cousin sobers; it's cool only needing to _be_ there. It's not cool having his routine derailed without warning. It's one of those nights and how was he supposed to know that they were dating? And since when was she so young and –pretty?

And that's why Garfield never brings Raven out of "The" tower anymore. (She left anyway, eventually.)

--

Over the course of his life, Matt had tried using every possible resource he had at his disposal to avoid ever getting this low. Ever. He liked parties. He liked drinking. He liked budging into parties where there was drinking, especially if the people there were one's he'd never get to meet otherwise—something tells him things have changed, but he's willing to ignore that: with the help of some extra-proof-something, he's managed to make it onto the island, across the threshold, into the strong arms of...someone he can ignore knowing the name of on account of or on the basis of being under the influence of something-or-other. He's never been more terrified of being sober in his life!

The window sill. His cousin, presently slurping out of some cop's neck, doesn't even look up when his buddies announce they found an "intruder", doesn't seem to react until Matt is near enough to smell the warmth of blood and the things Gar didn't seem to want to hide beneath his…fur? Dude. Matt cringes and, for once in his life, tries to reason against intoxication; a fist in the face stops his ramble. It falls to the floor, gnawed and still somewhat warm, still dripping with saliva and still trailing bits of whatever. Funny. He always pictured his ex-buddy being a cleaner eater--not that he ever pictured him eating meat, least of all human meat. Food abandoned, the two have each other's full attention. He guesses that blank stare and incredulous smirk are what irritate everyone when _he's_ in a daze because it sure as hell irritates him while they're coming from that green-red face, so clearly _not_ in a daze, so clearly _not_ his cousin's--

It irritates him, too, when said unfamiliar face nestles up close to his neck, but not so much as when it bites down. Hard. The tabloids were right and he should have stayed home.

And that's why Animal Man never brings family to the tower anymore. (He has no family.)

--

**AN**: I got the ideas on the run, jotted what I could down. Characters change but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Gar seems to have been the poster boy for that for quite a while, change and back-story I mean, and I liked Matt (from the fleeting glimpses I got of him) so I thought he would be the perfectly biased, objective control for this experiment. He has distant familial ties to the Green Machine and tries, over the years, to connect with Beastboy in all his carnations. It's not really mutual, here. It was fun but ended prematurely. I liked the idea of all of the scenarios but have no clue what's going in the first one. 


End file.
